Page 50 of Double Shot
“You know, it’s a shame that we can’t take out time on this trip,” Roan said. “I mean, we’ll be driving through Lyon and Dijon.”
“That’s a mustard,” Sadie quipped.
“And that is where that mustard comes from,” he added. “I call for when we eat, we eat somewhere in Dijon. If you say no, I’ll never forgive you.”
“Yes, Le Clerc, I’ll get you a mustard baguette and a rind of cheese.” I laughed. He gave me the finger.
I let the Bentley glide as fast as I dared. I wanted to eat up ground, but not be pulled over by any of the police here. We had no way of knowing who and what parts of that system belonged to Chauvignon. The guy was like cancer everywhere he went.
Somewhere between Lyon and Dijon, I was able to see that Sadie had indeed gone the commando route. “Don’t make a mess on the seats, the rental company will have a shit fit,” I said, adjusting the rearview to face down into the backseat.
Roan gave me the finger again, and Sadie just moaned.
We found a roadside café outside of Dijon to appease our resident Francophile and his sudden renewed interest in bread. Sadie sat in the front seat after that. We were cruising up the A31, and I was enjoying something that was a treat. The challenge of getting road head is paying attention to the road, rather than what your passenger is doing.
Somewhere before we made it to Metz, I blew my load.
“I want both of you, tonight,” Sadie said in a tone that brooked no debate.
Customs in Luxemburg was a little tedious, but nothing out of the ordinary. Roan’s EU passport smoothed most of the ruffles out. We rested there for a while, letting the vibrations and noises of the road fade, and enjoyed the comforts that a place only as old and small as Luxemburg could offer. We knew entering Germany would be the last real test of our passports and documents for a while, and it was likely that if Malmaison had his own security net, that would be where it should start.
We found a bed-and-breakfast to put us up for the evening. The trunk ride had been literally in another country, on the other side of mountains, and I could smell myself. It was a fact that none of us were anywhere near fresh now.
Dinner was served by the hostess, some traditional meat pie made of pork, with some sort of beans, and copious amounts of wine.
Dessert was served by Sadie, and it was a glorious treat that ended with a mess that required showers for everyone involved, but most of all, her.
I had seldom slept so well.
* * *
The traffic headinginto Dusseldorf from Luxemburg was heavy, but Oberhausen was a suburb of Cologne, and it was a major important place in Germany. As we made the drive at an annoyingly conservative and not fun pace, Roan told us history, and by history, how the Royal Airforce had bombed the shit out of this place back in the great war, and how we Americans had done the same thing, just raining bombs down on it.
It was hard to tell, hard to imagine. Everything seemed like it had never been touched. He pointed out that the main point was that there were few buildings that dated back to before the mid-1940s. That made sense, and it also made the place feel more like an American city than an old European one.
We drove through the heavy congestion of urban traffic, to the brazen point of passing in front of the doors to the Malmaison Military Archive and Museum – appointment or invitation only. It was a large square building, set with a faux front giving the imitation of Greco-Roman grandeur, white false pillars against a jaundiced yellow exterior. The windows were few and looked to have been blocked up from inside. A paranoid bunker almost in the heart of a major urban area, that was either brilliant, or idiotic.
“The hard part will be getting an invite or breaking in,” Roan said.
“I was thinking getting our weapons inside.” I shrugged.
“I’ve been able to see some of the collection. He has a lot of military hardware, lots of guns, ammo, and if the gallery is believable, everything is in working order, even the armor.” He took a sip of tea.
“He has armor in that building?” I asked.
“Three armored cars, two artillery pieces, and two tanks,” he replied calmly. “In running order, which could be a problem if he decides to pull aGoldenEyeand chase us through Cologne in a Nazi tank.”
“I think tanks are way above our pay grade.” Sadie sounded concerned.
“Don’t worry, tanks are only good for fighting other tanks. I would be more concerned about whatever security he has, because it looks like he doesn’t use any Escadrille sourced men. I’m seeing his electronic system is connected to the local police and a private security contractor.” Roan patted her on the hand when she leaned over his shoulder to look at the screens.
“High-end private security means helicopters and good communications systems.” I scowled.
“It does, but do you know who else has good security, comms, and aircraft?” he asked.
“Who?”
“The TSA, and we spoof them so often it doesn’t even count anymore.” He gave a laugh. “All we have to do is get your phone there, inside the building, and see if I can hack into his security like I do at any other checkpoint. Once I’m in, we can manipulate his system, lock him out of it, keep those external security forces in their barracks polishing their jackboots.”
